


the chains at your feet, heavier

by falindis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Lab Safety Protocols, Body Horror, Break Up, Consolation, Creation of Orcs, Deteoriating relationship, Dirty Talk, Doomed Love, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Found Family, Goodbyes, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnap Dads, Light Bondage, Makeup Kink, Manhandling, Marriage Proposal, Mind Control, Multi, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Redemption, Regret, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Teasing, Throne Sex, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: A collection of requests & writing prompts I have received on my tumblr (melkrows). Tag & character list updated with each new text. Rating & warnings can also change. Title from the song "Curtains" by Arcane Roots.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Aredhel/Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon, Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë, Eönwë & Sauron | Mairon, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, Sauron | Mairon & Thuringwethil, Sauron | Mairon/Reader
Comments: 41
Kudos: 111





	1. (T) Silvergifting: “Am I the reason you cry every night?”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Am I the reason you cry every night?” The prompt was taken from a list by @prompt-dealer.
> 
> Rated T. Ship: Silvergifting (with past Angbang). Genre: hurt/comfort.

“Am I the reason you cry every night?”

Tyelpe’s question caught Annatar off guard. He had to lay down his hammer not to drop it. He lifted his gaze from his work and met Tyelpe’s piercing blue eyes.

Like ice. Like the hottest fire.

“I do not understand, Tyelpe.”

“There is no shame in crying, Annatar. You can admit it. You can trust me.”

Annatar shook his head in confusion. He did not cry. He was in control of his emotions, had always been. That had set him apart from Melkor. He had been the brains, Melkor the heart.

“You must be mistaken”, Annatar said.

“No. You cannot lie to me. I have seen you, heard you. Is this something I have said or done? Please tell me. So I can make it right.”

Annatar sighed. There was no use in pretending. Tyelpe was too sharp for that.

“The reason is not you.”

“What, then?”

“Someone else.” Even saying the words made Annatar’s chest ache. He had not spoken them to anyone. Ever. “Someone much like you.”

“So in a way it is me? Because I remind you of them.”

Annatar had to turn his eyes away. “Yes. And no. You look like him. You also sound like him, sometimes. Especially when you are rough, commanding. But in many ways you are nothing like him. You… are softer. Kinder. He… was not kind. Ever.”

“So he was cruel to you? Hurt you?”

“Never me. But everyone else.”

“Even your friends?”

Annatar chuckled dryly. “I did not have many friends. But yes, even those close to me.”

“And yet you loved him?”

“Yes.” Annatar swallowed - he felt like he needed some water. “I think I will never stop loving him, in a way. Being loved by someone who hated all else… it made me feel special. Like I mattered.”

Tyelpe sighed, placing his hand above Annatar’s own. “Even without validation, there is intrinsic value in each life. Everyone matters.”

Annatar wanted to agree with him. To tell him that he was correct. But he would be lying. Annatar had forgotten the value of individual lives long ago. The mountains of corpses he had left behind were only testament to that.

“You deserve to be happy, Annatar”, Tyelpe continued. “If your happiness requires that you let go of your past… then you must let it go. Embrace the present. See what is right here. _Now.”_

Tyelpe squeezed his hands, and once again, Annatar could feel the heat of those ice-blue eyes on his skin.

He wanted to agree. He really did. He wanted to let the past go. To forget that he had been Sauron, the Abhorred, the most feared of all Morgoth’s servants. To brush that off like he had done with the blood beneath his nails.

But there was a reason that he still carried this weight with him, even after it pained him so.

Because he _deserved_ it - the pain, the loss, the grief - the one he had caused and the one he had suffered.

This was both his punishment and his reward.


	2. (G) Eönwë & Mairon: “Are you leaving?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by lulukeskywalker with the following prompt sentence: “Are you leaving?” The prompt was taken from a list by @prompt-dealer.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Mairon & Eonwë (ambiguous). Genre: drama, goodbyes

“Are you leaving?”

Mairon’s gaze turned towards the sound. The speaker’s winged figure was but a silhouette against the bright light of the outdoors. After spending so much time at the forges, Mairon found it to be almost blinding.

“Eönwë”, Mairon sighed. “Why have you come?”

Eönwë slammed the door shut behind him, advancing towards Mairon in long, purposeful strides. Mairon did not even have time to draw breath before Eönwë pinned him against the table, grasping a fistful of Mairon’s shirt and pulling the forge-Maia towards himself.

“Do not play the fool, Mairon. I know you are leaving. You have packed.”

“Let me go”, Mairon said, the collar of his tunic digging uncomfortably into his chin. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”

Eönwë’s azure eyes narrowed, but lowered Mairon down. Yet he did not move any further. They were still standing face to face - although Eönwë was tall enough that Mairon had to lift his chin to meet his eye. Eönwë’s breath came in short, hurried pants, and his skin was soaked with sweat. As if he had come in a hurry.

“Tell me, then.”

“Yes”, Mairon admitted. He could have lied. He would have, if it was anyone but Eönwë. Mairon had never been able to hide anything from him. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?” Eönwë demanded, his voice so loud that Mairon was glad they were alone. “How can you do this to me? After all we’ve been through together?”

“It was never meant to last.” Mairon cast down his eyes. “If I stay here with Aulë, I’ll suffocate. There is nothing more he can offer me.”

“And you think that _Melkor_ can offer that to you? Melkor, who cares for nothing but disorder and destruction? That is not you, Mairon! He has affected your mind!”

“Melkor can offer me more”, Mairon said, a hint of fire in his voice. “I know it. I have seen it. He has... shown me things. Taught me things that I had thought impossible. With his help, I could finally fulfill my purpose. To create something of my own.”

Eönwë’s expression of rage suddenly slipped into horror, and Mairon realized he had said too much.

“Mairon...” Eönwë gasped, his face pale as his wings, “what you are speaking of... it is forbidden. Creation is only for Eru. You still remember what happened when Aulë created the dwarves? Eru punished him. If you were to go there...”

Mairon drew a deep breath. He had gone too far. Besides, would it be a lie if he simply withheld a part of the truth?

“I apologize, Eönwë”, Mairon said. “I overstepped myself. I understand that creation is for Eru only. Melkor knows it too. Besides, he cannot create. Only... change things. And is that not what we already do here? When you take a gust of wind and twist it into a current, do you not mold what Eru has created? Or when I take a piece of metal and transform it into a sword? That is not creation. It is simply transforming what already is.”

Some of the past flush seemed to return to Eönwë’s face, but not all of it.

“I should stop you”, he said. “I could make you stay, if I wanted. By force.”

“But you do not want that.”

“No. I do not.” Eönwë’s voice lowered until it was but a breath. “You would not be happy.”

Mairon could not help the tiny smile that crept upon his face. Even after all this time, Eonwë still cared for his happiness. Even after all Mairon had made him go through.

“I will never forget you”, Mairon said. “Or what we had. But I need to go where you cannot follow.”

Or, rather, would not. Eönwë could turn, too. Just like many of the other Maiar had already done. He just never would.

Eönwë’s lips curled into a sad smile.

“Then I will let you go”, he said. And then, “are you leaving today?”

“Yes. There is nothing left for me here.” _Except you._

Eönwë nodded. He then lifted his hand towards Mairon, let it hover in midair, like a bird taking flight.

“Fly with me, one last time?” he asked, holding out his palm.

Mairon took it, letting his rusty-brown wings unfurl.

“One last time. For the memories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. ♥


	3. (G) Thuringwethil & Mairon: "Do you even know what love feels like?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by @got-nosoul with the following prompt sentence: “Do you even know what love feels like?” The prompt was taken from a list by @prompt-dealer.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Thuringwethil & Mairon (ambiguous). Genre: hurt/comfort.

“Do you even know what love feels like?”

Thuringwethil’s shrill scream made the windows of Tol-in-Gauroth shake so violently, that Mairon was afraid they would shatter again. He had already had them replaced a few times before, and now, he was slowly considering whether he should just not bother next time.

“You’re leaving me again. When you promised me that you wouldn’t leave.” Thuringwethil pounded Mairon’s chest with her fists, timing them with the punches that were her words. _“You wouldn’t leave.”_

“I _have_ to”, Mairon said as he restrained Thuringwethil’s hands with his own. “Lúthien has come. I know what she is after. If I do not defeat her, she will go to Melkor. And I cannot let that happen.”

“He does not need you”, Thuringwethil cried, fighting against Mairon’s grip. “He does not care about you. Not like I do.”

“Stop”, Mairon said, holding Thuringwethil closer. Holding her so that she would _stop fighting._ He placed his words as a whisper against Thuringwethil’s ear, so close that his lips brushed her porcelain skin. “I care about you. You know that I do. Now hold still.”

Thuringwethil still whimpered and cried, her grimace wide enough to show all of her sharp teeth. But she did not struggle anymore. The fight had drained out of her.

“I _will_ come back to you”, Mairon said.

Thuringwethil closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, anchoring into it although she knew she would drown. “Promise?”

“Promise”, Mairon lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥ Kudos & comments are always appreciated.


	4. (M) Angbang: "Do you understand what you've done?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Do you understand what you've done?” The prompt was taken from a list by @prompt-dealer.
> 
> Rated M. Ship: Angbang. Genre: horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: chapter contains body horror (the creation of the first orcs), and death. With this, the rating of the series raised to M, and I added the "Graphic Depictions of Violence" warning.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Mairon asked.

The elf’s mangled body was laid out obscenely on the table, his hands and feet twisted into unnatural angles, his face contorted into a frozen expression of horror. The unseeing eyes, wide with terror, seemed to stare straight at Mairon. Straight _through_ him. As if he was to blame, by being partial in this. By standing at Melkor’s side.

“Yes”, Melkor replied, his voice trembling, but not out of regret or fear. This unsettled Mairon the most. He would have preferred anything to it. Melkor’s tone could have been entirely flat, devoid of all emotion. But no. He _enjoyed_ this. He was _proud_ of what he had done. “This has to happen. It is the only way.”

 _Is it?_ Mairon wished to ask, but his lips could not form the words. It was as if they were a tongue he did not know. Instead he asked: “did he suffer?”

“No”, Melkor replied, and the relief that single word brought was drained with the words that followed after: “not yet. It is not over.”

The silence of the room was interrupted by a single scream. A sound that made Mairon’s blood curdle. The elf’s still body on the table sprung to life, back arching, neck craning, as if in some morbid dance of death. 

Melkor’s hand crunched into a fist, and the elf began to _change._ His spine cracked, twisting and forcing his back into a permanent hunch. His limbs lengthened and tendons popped, his hands and feet taking a perverted, crouched shape. All the while his screaming continued, becoming more hoarse with each second that passed, until it resembled a knife scraping against stone. Melkor twisted his fingers, and the elf’s fingers twisted too, the nails growing, becoming sharper and darker, turning into claws. His skin changed into a sickly, pale gray, and his formerly blue eyes bled into red.

Until, at last, Melkor flicked his wrist, and the body collapsed on the floor, where it lay, unmoving.

It twitched for a moment, then lay still. Forever.

“Why did you do that?” Mairon asked, his voice high and shrill with terror.

“He was imperfect”, Melkor replied. “Impure.”

“So you killed him?”

“I saved him from his misery.” Melkor’s hands were still crackling with black lightning when he laid them down on Mairon’s shoulders, sending a shock of power through him. But Mairon did not flinch. His body felt numb. “Do not worry. This was simply an experiment. Progress always requires sacrifices. I can always start anew.”

Mairon swallowed. His mouth tasted of ash. Melkor’s power still crackled in his veins. It felt both intoxicating and sickening in the same time. Mairon did not know whether to lean towards or away from it.

“We will accomplish great things here, my flame”, Melkor whispered against his ear, making Mairon shiver. “Together.”

The elf’s - the _monster’s -_ unmoving eyes still stared at Mairon. Accusing him. Blaming him. 

He was not wrong. Mairon could have stopped this. He simply chose not to.

“Bring in the next one”, Melkor said.

Mairon did not say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Likes and kudos are always appreciated. ^^


	5. (M) Mairon x Reader: "I've finally caught you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt: "I've finally caught you." The prompt was taken from a list by @memeasaurus-promptus.
> 
> Rated: M. Ship: Mairon x Reader. Genre: seduction, dub-con.

“I’ve finally caught you.”

The Maia’s soft breath feels scorching on your neck as he whispers the words in your ear. Yet, your body shivers. You are quivering like the arrows that you had rained down upon him in attempt to drive off your enemy. Yet they only seemed to irritate - or even excite him. (Your resistance had been futile, of course. He was a god. You were not. Yet you needed to try.)

“You have spirit, little one”, he continues, trailing a sharp fingernail along your sensitive skin. A whimper escapes your throat, and your neck arches upwards. You are sure he can hear the blood boiling in your veins. “I do love a good struggle.”

Your voice trembles as you gather the courage to speak: “get your filthy hands off me, Thauron.”

To your surprise, Thauron laughs. It is an unexpectedly soft sound, like rippling water or the jingle of a wind-chime. “My, my. Manners. I will have you know that my name is _Mairon_ \- although what could I have expected from a feral thing such as you?”

You fight the urge to spit at him. Yet, you somehow hold yourself back. You do not wish to anger him any more.

“Yet, you will learn. In time, I suspect that you will make quite the obedient pet.” Thauron’s fingernails are suddenly replaced by his whole hand, which grasps your throat and turns your face against him. For a moment, your entire world is consumed by those burning eyes, boring their way down to your very _fëa._ “Such a pretty little thing. Precious, even.”

You grit your teeth as you struggle to turn away, but you find you cannot. You are mesmerized by his gaze, by the power and beauty in those amber-red eyes. You feel like you are sinking into a deep well, far beneath the dark surface, but strangely, you feel no pain. You only feel comfortably numb: warm, even. Your body falls slack beneath his fingertips, and his lips curl into a smile filled with too many teeth.

“Good pet”, he coos, stroking your face with his soft hand. Unconsciously, you lean your head against it, eager to be closer to him. Your captor. No-- your savior. (Your Master.)

“Yes”, his lips brush against your skin, soft and warm. “Give yourself to me.”

His firm hands lower your pliant body onto the grass beneath, and you lose yourself in the heat of his fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Likes and kudos are always appreciated. ^^


	6. (T) Kidnap Dads: "What are you going to do to me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by @jaz-the-bard with the following prompt: "What are you going to do to me?" The prompt was taken from a list by @memeasaurus-promptus.
> 
> Rated: T. Characters: Kidnap Family (Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond & Elros). Genre: drama.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Eight words. Eight words was all it took to make Maedhros’ cold-hard determination crack. His sword clattered out of his hand and fell with a clang, splattering blood over the stones, which alone bore witness to the atrocities done there that day.

Alone, except for these two children.

Maedhros did not know, why he made and exception for them. He had it all planned out in his head, he knew what he had to do. And yet he could not force himself to do it. He could not kill two innocent children.

Perhaps it was because they reminded him of the Ambarussa, the two brothers Maedhros no longer had. He had lost so much - he and Maglor were the only ones left. The twins clung onto each other, as if it was the only thing keeping them standing. Just like Maglor was the rock that Maedhros depended on, now that Telvo and Pityo and Tyelko and Moryo and Curvo

_and Finno–_

The heartache stung harder than the thousand cuts that Maedhros now bore on his body. He had nothing left except Maglor. Just like these two children had nothing but each other.

(Because Maedhros had _taken all from them.)_

“Nelyo”, Maglor asked with a cautious tone. “What are you doing?”

Maedhros stared at his bloodied hands. This was his legacy. Pain and death. Perhaps Thauron had been right, mocking him at Angbang. He had sworn that everything Maedhros loved, he would eventually destroy.

(Everyone you love will _die.)_

But no. Maedhros wanted to believe in something better. He _needed_ to believe in something better.

“I am…” he spoke quietly, but with every syllable his words grew in power, the conviction in them rooting deeper. The soil they were in might have been poor, but they had taken root. They could survive.

“I am going to take care of you. You are safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all kudos and comments. ♥


	7. (G) Angbang: "I believe you."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “I believe you.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Angbang. Genre: hurt/comfort.

“I believe you”, Mairon said. Saying the words felt strangely relieving. As if they had been a weight upon his chest on a long time, and now, that weight had been released. “I want to come with you.”

Melkor lifted his ice-blue eyes, meeting Mairon’s gaze from across the empty forge. “Are you certain? If you do that, your life will change forever. You will have to say goodbye to everything you know.”

“I know”, Mairon nodded. There were many things he was unsure of - his skills as a Maia of Aulë, his prowess as a smith - but not this. Of this he was certain. “If I remained here, I would be living a lie. And not only that. I would be alone.”

Melkor heard the implication behind Mairon’s words, and they hit him hard. They had much in common, but _this,_ this of all was the thing that they shared the most. They were both alone.

“You are not alone.” Melkor came closer and wrapped his hands around Mairon - carefully, as if he did not wish to break him. “Not anymore.”

Mairon smiled. A genuine, warm smile. It felt strange. He did not even remember the last time he had smiled like that. “I know.”

He met Melkor’s embrace, and here, for the first time in all of his time in Almaren, he truly felt at home.

They would never be alone again.


	8. (G) Russingon: "You look better in my clothes than I do".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by @thatfeanorian with the following prompt sentence: “You look better in my clothes than I do.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Russingon. Genre: hurt/comfort.

“You look better in my clothes than I do”, Maedhros said.

Fingon stood in front of the mirror, furrowing his brows beneath the golden, star-adorned circlet on his forehead. “You cannot possibly mean that.”

Maedhros came closer, laying his hands upon Fingon’s shoulders. They were padded, and made his frame look much wider than it actually was. This was the same ceremonial garb Maedhros had worn in his coronation, although he had since ordered the helm shortened. “I do. A true king of the Noldor.”

Maedhros spun Fingon around in front of the mirror, so that light caught on the elaborate filigree pattern on Fingon’s coat. It was still strange seeing Fingon in red, after all the years spent in blue. Nevertheless, the sight of him always made Maedhros’ breath catch.

“Are you ready for your coronation, _my king?”_ Maedhros asked him, and Fingon gave a nervous sigh.

“I do not know whether I will ever get used to this.”

“You will”, Maedhros squeezed his hand, “I know it. You will make a better king than I ever was.”

“Russo…” Fingon smiled, a single light amidst the darkness. “The only reason that I am standing here is because of you. It is because of you that I have come so far. That _we_ have come so far.”

Fingon leaned forward to plant a kiss on Maedhros’ lips, and for that moment Maedhros truly believed in their victory. That it would last forever.

“You will always be my king, _arimelda”_ , Fingon said. “The king of my heart. And you do not need to wear a crown to be that.”


	9. (G) Angbang: "That's the first time I've ever seen you smile."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by @thraddy with the following prompt sentence: “I believe you.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Angbang. Genre: fluff.

“That is the first time I have ever seen you smile”, Mairon said.

Melkor lifted his gaze from his goblet. All around them the festivities of Angband still carried on, but suddenly, Melkor had eyes only for Mairon. “What?”

“Now. You are smiling.”

The muscles on Melkor’s face tensed, as if he was not entirely in control of his own expression. It was unusual for him - he always seemed perfectly composed, perfectly calm.

Perhaps it was the wine. But Mairon liked to think otherwise.

“I am not”, Melkor protested, taking a new swig out of his goblet. “You are simply imagining things.”

“Why hide it? It makes you look beautiful.”

“It makes me look weak.”

“No.” Mairon shook his head, then gestured towards the festivities. “Look around you. These are your subjects. Each of which would kill and die for you. Do you truly think that a simple smile from you would twist their allegiance?”

Melkor worked his jaw, but remained silent.

Mairon squeezed Melkor’s hand. “We scored a great victory today. The Noldor scum are dead or taken prisoner. They will think twice the next time they dare raise a hand to us. You are allowed to enjoy yourself. To enjoy _this.”_

The hall echoed with the sounds of orc-song, revelry and laughter. Here and there a fight broke out, elsewhere the sounds of lovemaking echoed. The Valaraukar had gathered in one corner, their forms flickering wildly of excitement. Everywhere Mairon looked, he saw _joy_. It was difficult to not feel satisfied at the sight.

“You do not have to open yourself to them”, Mairon said, leaning closer to whisper the words in Melkor’s ear, “but you can open yourself to me. You can be vulnerable around me.”

Although Melkor did not reply, Mairon saw the corners of his mouth twitch. The gesture was miniscule - so small that a simple blink would cause one to miss it - but Mairon noticed. Melkor’s every feature was etched so deep in Mairon’s memory that even the smallest changes would not go unnoticed.

“Will you share this night with me?” Mairon asked.

Melkor’s face turned around to face Mairon’s, the mask slipping away just enough to reveal a side of him that he never showed anyone else.

“If that will make you smile, my flame; I will.”


	10. (G) Feanerd: "Can I play with your hair?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Can I play with your hair?” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Feanerd (Feanor / Nerdanel). Genre: fluff.

“Can I play with your hair?” Fëanor asked.

Nerdanel turned around, lowering the chisel from her hand. “You’ll make a mess, you know.”

Fëanor came closer, and disregarding Nerdanel’s warning, slid his fingers into her flaming tresses. “I do not care.”

Nerdanel tilted her head backwards. “Curufinwë… I’m working.”

“Take a little break?” Fëanor smiled at her, breathing the scent of stone and metal. “You have been working all day.”

Nerdanel hummed. She cracked her neck, clearly sore from working for such a long time. That was what Fëanor and her had in common - they both often forgot themselves among their work. “I guess you are right.”

Fëanor helped her down from the pedestal, and they took a step back to admire at the statue Nerdanel had been working on. It depicted Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits, holding a basket of grain in her extended hands. Although the statue was still incomplete, it was so like her that Fëanor almost expected it to come to life at any moment.

“What is it?” Nerdanel asked. “Is there something wrong?”

“No”, Fëanor shook his head. “It is… perfect.”

At the recognition, Nerdanel’s face transformed. It was a rare sight - one that very few ever got to see. She was beautiful like this, caught up in her work: fingers dirty, a thin sheen of sweat upon her brow, the light catching in her unruly hair and lighting it aflame. Fëanor’s breath caught in his throat.

“You are… perfect.”

Nerdanel blinked, her green eyes twinkling with question. “Excuse me?”

Fëanor cleared his throat. “Nerdanel… will you marry me?”

_“What?”_

Although Fëanor rarely felt uncertain of anything - he was the son of the king, after all - he did now. His heart was pounding in his chest. His hands were sweating. Nerdanel’s eyes were his only anchor, the only thing keeping him upright.

“I said–”

 _“Yes”,_ Nerdanel breathed. She wiped her brow, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

Fëanor did a double take. He must have misheard. She couldn’t have said yes.

“Yes”, she repeated. “Of course I’ll marry you, Curufinwë.”

Then she ran to him, swept him into her strong arms, and kissed him.

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	11. (T) Silvergifting: "Was it worth it?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Was it worth it?” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated T. Ship: Silvergifting. Genre: angst. Content warning: implied torture & blood.

“Was it worth it?” Celebrimbor asked.

Annatar could barely make out the words. To be frank, he was surprised that Celebrimbor could speak at all. His lips were split and swollen, and long, dried streaks of blood ran across his chin all the way down to his bare, scarred chest. There was not an inch of his body that Annatar had left untouched, and behind all the blood and grime it was almost impossible to make out the former Lord of Eregion.

His voice, though. It was still the same. The same _love_ was still wound into it, the same weakness. 

“Was what worth it?” Annatar asked with a cock of his chin.

“This”, Celebrimbor grunted. Annatar was not sure of the entirety that the word comprised - whether Celebrimbor only referred to his own destruction, or all that came with it. Then he made a nodding gesture towards Annatar’s hands, and the bright, gold band shining on his index finger. “That.”

Annatar chuckled. “Of course it was.”

Celebrimbor let out a desperate, whooping cough. “No.”

“What do you mean, _no?”_

“It was futile”, Celebrimbor said, once he had recovered from his fit. “Look around you. What have you accomplished? Nothing but destruction.”

Ire sparked within Annatar, and for a moment, he let his golden disguise fall, allowing Celebrimbor a peak into the fiery, dark flames that smoldered within. “You know nothing, son of Curufin.”

But Celebrimbor simply smiled, with bloody teeth. Even after all this time, all the pain and torture and regret, he still managed a _smile._ “But I am correct, am I not? This is not what you aimed for. This is simply means for an aim.”

Annatar snarled, pulling a dagger from his waist and holding it at Celebrimbor’s neck. He was so determined to finally finish it all, to put an end to the elf’s misery, but somehow, he could not do it. Celebrimbor’s neck arched beneath Annatar’s blade, a thin streak of blood blooming beneath it, and still his eyes held a spark of hope.

How foolish. How arrogant.

How… correct.

With shaking hands, Annatar lowered the blade. For a moment he simply stood still, open-eyed and open-mouthed, staring into nothingness. For Celebrimbor _was_ correct. Annatar had not reached what he came here to do. The rings were still not within his grasp. The gates were still closed. And his master was still behind them, with no way of return.

He had _failed._ And why? Because of love. Because of love that this insolent elf held for him.

And love that stayed his own hand.

“Was it worth it?” Celebrimbor asked again. In that voice that Annatar loved hated. “Was it, Annatar?”

“Yes”, Annatar assured himself. “It was.”

It wasn’t.


	12. (T) Angbang: "Is your image really more important than us?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Is your image really more important than us?” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated T. Ship: Angbang. Genre: angst, modern AU.

“Is your image really more important than us?” Mairon asked.

“Don’t bother me, Mai.” Melkor lit a cigarette and threw his legs above the couch table. The room was a filthy mess, it always was, and it made Mairon want to tear his hairs out. “I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not.” Mairon snatched the cigarette from Melkor’s hand and put it out. Melkor bared his teeth at him, but Mairon had long since stopped caring. There was no way that Melkor could hurt him any more. “You’re just avoiding me. Just like you always do.”

Melkor reached a hand into his pocket to grab another cigarette, but he found that he was out. He groaned and leaned his back against the couch.

“Leave me alone.”

“No.” Mairon began pacing the space, unable to stand still. “I need to know the answer. Is your image really more important than us? Is this all you care about anymore? Writing shitty songs and then drinking until you forget ever writing them?”

“What do you want me to say, Mai?”

“I want you to tell the truth.”

Melkor passed a hand over his face. “Yes.”

Although Mairon had expected the answer, he still felt his heart sink. Perhaps it was because before Melkor said it, Mairon still had hope. Hope that this was simply a phase, that Melkor didn’t mean it. But hearing Melkor admit it… 

“Why, Mel?” Mai asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’m tired.” Melkor couldn’t even look Mairon in the eye. That’s how far gone he was. “Do you even know what it feels like? Having everyone rely on you? To wish that you’d be something you’re not?” Melkor sighed. “Of course you don’t. You’re you. Mr. Perfect.”

Mairon wasn’t even angry anymore. He was just sad. “No. I’m not perfect. I’m far from it. If you really paid attention to me, you’d notice. That I’m failing my job as your manager, as your partner. The truth is, I’m tired too. I can’t help you unless you _let_ me help. I can’t do this alone anymore.”

A heavy silence fell. For a moment they simply brooded at each other. Perhaps that was all they could do anymore. In that moment it was almost impossible to remember that this wasn’t all that they were. A silent space full of unsaid words and undone deeds.

“When did this happen?” Mairon sighed, eventually. “When did we break?”

Melkor laughed. It was a cracked, worn out sound. As if he didn’t know how to laugh properly anymore.

“We were always broken, Mairon”, he said. “That is what made us so beautiful. But things are only beautiful when cracked, not shattered. Because before that they can still be fixed.” Melkor finally lifted his gaze, and his eyes were dark. They had always been dark, always so full of _heat,_ so full of want. Now they were simply empty. Cold. 

“I’m sorry”, he whispered.

And for once, Mairon agreed with him. “So am I.”


	13. (G) Silvergifting: "That is not what the instructions say."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “That is not what the instructions say.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Silvergifting. Genre: fluff.

“That is not what the instructions say”, Tyelpe said.

Annatar seemed to pay no heed to his words. Tyelpe was not sure whether the Maia even noticed - he simply poured the solution onto the beaker, not even bothering to measure it properly, as if he could tell the amount exactly by hand. Tyelpe could not even begin to say how irresponsible it was, how little Annatar cared for work safety - he wasn’t even wearing an apron, for the Valar’s sake! And if an accident happened, well… everyone would know whom to blame.

“Hand me the acid”, Annatar said, holding out a hand - and a bare one at that - straight at Tyelpe. Tyelpe, of course, hesitated. He was a responsible smith! He wouldn’t allow Annatar to die because of his ignorance!

But oh. Oh no. Annatar already held the acid. Tyelpe was not sure how Annatar had even managed to pick it up without Tyelpe noticing. Oh Valar no - he’s adding it into the solution -

“You really should use a dropper for that”, Tyelpe said. And scolded himself immediately afterwards. What a stupid thing to say. At this moment, he should have been dragging Annatar from the lab from the helms of his robes. But instead he just stood there like a fool, watching as Annatar poured the acid onto the beaker and let it bubble. An acrid reek filled the air, and Tyelpe exploded into a fit of cough.

“We really…” _cough cough,_ “should follow the instructions!”

Annatar simply smiled. He was now stirring the beaker with a glass rod, without even looking at it. “Do not worry, Tyelpe. I have done this a thousand times. All we need is–”

_Clink._

Tyelpe froze. He watched in horror as a thin crack appeared onto the side of the glass, spreading and spreading like a growing snowflake, and suddenly the glass split cleanly in two. The acid-filled solution spread all over Annatar’s stove and dripped onto the floor, hissing as the liquid fell onto the tile.

“Annatar!” Tyelpe cried out, nearly leaping forward to grab Annatar’s robes and pull him away from the bench. Annatar’s feet caught onto his helm, and he crashed face-first into Tyelpe, collapsing on top of him against another workbench.

“Uuhhh”, Tyelpe grunted - he felt like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“My apologies”, Annatar said. Quickly, Tyelpe was aware of _just how close_ Annatar was, their noses almost touching. Tyelpe’s heart was beating like a drum - but why wouldn’t it? Annatar could have died.

“No problem”, Tyelpe said, turning his gaze away. His cheeks felt like burning, but the lab _was_ hot. They had been working by the fire, after all.

Annatar was already composing himself, straightening his back and taking a step away from Tyelpe. Back towards the disaster. Still without protective equipment, he leaned towards the broken glass and _lifted it with his bare fingers,_ with no care for the fire or the dripping acid.

“Oh”, he said, noting Tyelpe’s shocked expression. “I am immune to the elements. See?”

Annatar passed his fingers clean through the fire. Nothing happened to them.

Tyelpe’s throat felt suddenly dry.

“You could have told me that before”, he wheezed.

Annatar was already back to his work. He had taken up a new beaker and was preparing another solution as they spoke. Like he had indeed done it a thousand times.

“Who are you, Annatar?” he found himself asking, admiring at his friends deft - and foolish - fingers. _What are you?_

Annatar simply smiled. There was something strange about that smile, something sharp and beautiful, like a diamond. But once he blinked, it was gone. “I am your friend, Tyelpe.”

Yes. A friend.

But Tyelpe couldn’t help thinking that he was also something more.


	14. (M) Angbang: "I'm going to ruin that pretty makeup."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “I'm going to ruin that pretty makeup.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated M. Ship: Angbang. Genre: smut.

“I’m going to ruin that pretty makeup”, Melkor murmured, pushing Mairon against the wall. A cry escaped the lieutenant’s black-painted lips, black like the kohl he had smeared around his eyelids. It was a different look from his usual blood-red, and it made the fire in his eyes stand out even more. 

“Master”, Mairon whimpered, his back and neck arching erotically as he fought to escape, prey caught in a predator’s grasp. He struggled, he always did, but he enjoyed this game as much as Melkor did. Melkor watched him in fascination, almost in a daze, touching his fingers to Mairon’s black-tinted lips. He then dragged them downwards, watching the color bleed from Mairon’s mouth onto his porcelain-white chin.

“So beautiful”, Melkor crooned softly, caressing Mairon’s throat, “so corrupted.”

Finger by finger his grip tightened, until tears welled in Mairon’s eyes, and he was gasping for breath. The sight went straight into Melkor’s cock. Tonight, he would make Mairon _weep,_ until the kohl would leak from his eyes and paint black streaks all over his skin.

“Melkor”, Mairon whimpered, his voice barely a whisper, “please…”

Melkor loosened his grip and pinned his knee between Mairon’s legs, rubbing it against the lieutenant’s obvious arousal. “Beg harder.”

“Fuck me…”

Melkor grinned. Polluted perfection. That was what Mairon was. The only beautiful thing of Eru’s creation, turned _wrong._ Made _his._

“I am going to devour you”, he growled, planting a messy kiss on Mairon’s dark lips. They tasted of ash and ruin, of fire and blaze. It was intoxicating. Now that Melkor had tasted it, he was not sure whether he could live without it. Whether he even wanted to.

For the bonds that Mairon had laid upon him were very strong.


	15. (M) Aredhel x Celegorm: "I think we just found a new kink."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by @withfantasticgarlands with the following prompt sentence: “I think we just found a new kink”. The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated M. Ship: Aredhel/Celegorm. Genre: smut.

“I think we just found a new kink”, Aredhel grinned, tightening the bonds around Celegorm’s hands and feet. Celegorm was tied up like a present before her - hands bound together around the headboard, feet spread wide and attached to the bedposts.

“You haven’t found out anything”, Celegorm said, but the raggedness of his voice revealed otherwise.

Aredhel scolded him with a click of her tongue. “Quiet, now, or I’ll have to gag you.”

Judging from the way Celegorm’s cock hardened at the sight - if that was even possible anymore - the thought excited him. They’d have to try it out next time. Celegorm was always so mouthy, so needy - what torture it would be to force his mouth shut. But this time, Aredhel wanted to hear him _moan._

“Just get to it already”, Celegorm grunted, struggling against his bonds. He had little room to wiggle - Aredhel had made sure of that. She simply smiled and pulled out a thin strip of fabric, holding it before Celegorm’s face.

“For your eyes”, she explained. “I can’t have you peeking at my hand in this game.”

“As if you’d ever win”, Celegorm retorted. His breath came in short, shallow pants, and a pink flush spread all across his face down to his pretty cock. Aredhel couldn’t wait to tie that up, too. Tonight Celegorm was all _hers._

“Oh, Tyelko”, Aredhel said as she tied the strip of cloth around Celegorm’s eyes, then began to tease him with the caress of her fingers. Down his throat to his chiseled chest, and ever further downwards, onto the curve of his pelvis. “I have already won.”


	16. (E) Angbang: "Leave the heels on."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentences: “Leave the heels on,” “Lay down and stay still,” and “That was the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.” The prompts were taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated E. Ship: Angbang. Genre: smut.

“Leave the heels on”, Melkor commanded as he watched Mairon discard his robes on the floor of the empty throne room. 

Mairon grinned sharply, canines flashing. “Would you like for me to take my crown off too, my lord?”

“No”, Melkor replied. “I find the look rather… dashing.”

Mairon came closer, accentuating the clap of his heels against the stone. The lieutenant was a vision, as always: the garnets on his crown flashed as he swaggered towards the throne, hips swaying, while his red hair hung in long curtains behind his back. It seemed to flicker and ripple as he moved, as if it was made of living flame. The sight took Melkor’s breath away. He was nearly breathless when Mairon finally reached the foot of the throne, batting his red eyelashes at Melkor.

“What is your next order… master?”

Melkor inhaled sharply. It took all of his willpower not to ravage his lieutenant there and then. 

“Use your mouth”, he ordered. 

“Your wish is my command”, Mairon replied, his heels clicking as he took two steps closer and lowered his head onto Melkor’s lap. His deft fingers quickly discarded Melkor’s codpiece, finding their way onto the bare, rock-hard member below. Melkor drew a hiss between his teeth as Mairon’s fingers wrapped around his shaft and began to stroke, varying between smooth, languid strokes and quick, hurried pulses.

“Lie back and stay still”, Mairon instructed. His fiery eyes met Melkor’s from beneath his teasingly arched brows, and he gave Melkor a few more strokes before he opened his mouth and began to run his tongue along his own lips, certainly realizing how the sight looked to his master - or in this moment, his _servant._ Mairon was the master now, and Melkor was nothing but clay in his clever hands.

Finally Mairon flicked out his tongue to taste at the tip of Melkor’s shaft, and Melkor could not help the broken moan that escaped his throat.

“That was the prettiest sound I have ever heard”, Mairon said, “so far.”

Just before he lowered his head to fully take Melkor into his mouth, he flashed a last, devilish grin.

“Now, my dark one”, his breath was hot on Melkor’s cock, “sing for me.”


	17. (G) Silvergifting: "We could run away."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “We could run away.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Silvergifting. Genre: fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely [ibrithir-was-here](https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/post/638073081673449472/silverfisting-with-we-could-run-away-if-youre) drew some fanart on this on tumblr, please go check that out ♥

“We could run away”, Tyelpe said.

Annatar turned his gaze to Tyelpe, who was lying next to him on the green grass. It was a beautiful day in the fields outside of Eregion - the canopy of the tree above them filtered the sun in glistening rays, dancing on Tyelpe’s skin like ripples of water. The sky above was a brilliant blue, and the city of Eregion drew a magnificent silhouette against the horizon. It was almost as if the city called Annatar to stay, to let things remain unchanged.

“You know we cannot”, Annatar said as he forced a smile on his lips. “I must leave tomorrow.”

Or that was what Annatar said to himself. He didn’t _have_ to do anything - this is what he forced himself to do. He had lingered here for too long, lost sight of his original goal. His forces in the East were growing restless, and the yearning from the Void grew more desperate day by day.

“I have things I must take care of, back home. But this is not the last time I will see you. For that, you can be certain.”

“I cannot believe I must part with you”, Tyelpe sighed. “I wish I could come with you.”

“Alas, those still living are not allowed to the Blessed Land”, Annatar replied. But although he spoke the truth, that, too, was a part of this Lie. Tyelpe _could_ come with him, if Annatar so decided. But that would require revealing Tyelpe his true identity, his true intentions. Although Tyelpe claimed that he loved him now, he loved _Annatar,_ the Lord of Gifts, the Herald of the Valar, not Sauron the Deceiver, the Dark Lord of Mordor. 

Only in Annatar’s wildest dreams would Tyelpe love him throughout it all - and all of _him._

In that moment, though, he reconsidered. Tyelpe was so beautiful next to him, so peaceful. His dark hair and wide shoulders reminded Annatar of another - yet he was much more than just a replacement. Tyelpe had taught Annatar things that he could never have imagined to learn from an elf. And above that, Tyelpe had shown Annatar _kindness._

If Annatar took up that offer, if he really stayed… it would be a simple life. Gorthaur the Cruel would be forgotten. He would simply remain Annatar, gold-smith, friend of elves and men.

Previously, Annatar had thought it unthinkable - he had been raised by wolves, in a world where cruelty was the only certainty. This was simply a disguise, a temporary form, like a pupa before he emerged reborn from his chrysalis. He had been very eager to discard this life and to move onto the next.

But now, feeling the warmth of the sun of his face, the softness of Tyelpe’s hands stroking against his, Annatar began to relish in the _now_ instead of yearning for the past or the future. To understand that there was value in the in-between, in the small actions that determined the course of the future.

Perhaps the thought was not so intimidating after all.


	18. (G) Angbang: "Get out."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Get out.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Angbang. Genre: angst.

“Get out”, Melkor orders. His voice screeches like iron. Mairon wants to cringe away from it, but his legs are frozen. Just like his eyes, fixed on the figure slumped over the throne. Melkor’s back is hunched, his form like a collapsed mountain, and on his brow, two white flames still blaze, the only light in the room.

“Shall I return again later, my lord?” Mairon asks.

“No.”

“Master…?”

“I said no.” Each syllable is a crackle of ice. Mairon feels a sinking sensation in his stomach as he begins to realize what Melkor truly means. “I do not wish for you to return. Ever.”

For some reason, Mairon’s first instinct is to laugh. Melkor cannot surely mean his words. “My lord–”

_“Quiet.”_ The word cracks like a whip. Mairon flinches. “Hold your insolent tongue. You have failed me for the last time, lieutenant. No more. You are hereby banished from my side. You are to leave Angband by sundown.”

_No._

_Anything but this._

_This is a trick. A nightmare._

Yet, when Mairon reaches out through their bond to see if it is true, his burning-bright strands grasping for the great darkness, he finds nothing. 

It is as if Melkor’s very _fëa_ has died out. All that is left is vast emptiness. A void. For the first time since the days of Almaren, Mairon feels _alone._ The shame and anger of his failure are now gone. Now he only feels _loss._ Cold.

“But…” Mairon says in a small voice he does not recognize. “You cannot.”

“I can, and I will”, Melkor says coldly, emotionlessly. “You should be lucky that you still live.”

But no. Melkor is wrong.

Mairon would rather die. He would rather die a thousand times than be banished from his master’s side.

_Lucky._

Mairon almost laughs.

If only there was such a thing as luck. 


	19. (M) Silvergifting: "Call me that again."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “Call me that again.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated M. Ship: Silvergifting. Genre: smut.

“Call me that again”, Annatar gasped, close to breathless. His face was flushed, golden eyes blown wide, glistening with a carnal need.

Tyelpe, too, had trouble finding his words. They had simply been a slip of the tongue, a dangerous thought that he would be wiser to discard. But now, lying naked on top of Annatar, feeling hot skin harden against his, coherent thought was quickly slipping away from his grasp.

“Please, Tyelpe”, Annatar said.

_Please._ Tyelpe swallowed. It had to be serious. He did not know if he had ever heard Annatar beg.

“Love”, Tyelpe said. And although he had expected something to happen - the earth to shake or open beneath him, it did not. All remained the same, except for the light in Annatar’s eyes. For a moment it seemed somehow _brighter,_ if that was even possible. _Oh._ And the hardness that Tyelpe felt pressing against his thigh. It was as if Annatar was poking him with an iron bar.

“Oh, Tyelpe”, Annatar gasped, his voice thick with desire. The agility in his movements took Tyelpe by surprise - one moment Tyelpe had been on top; the second Annatar had grabbed him and their positions were switched, and Tyelpe was pinned between Annatar’s strong legs. Suddenly Annatar seemed rough, almost commanding, and this was a sight that Tyelpe had never seen before. Usually Tyelpe was the one in control.

Yet, strangely, Tyelpe found that he rather _enjoyed_ it.

“Does this mean that you…” Tyelpe began, breathing deep to steady his frantically beating heart, “feel the same way?”

Annatar did not reply, but of the movements of his body Tyelpe had no doubt. As Annatar pinned Tyelpe’s hands above his head and began to ride him, his lust spoke more than any words could say.


	20. (G) Feanerd: "I don’t see the same person I loved when I look at you anymore."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “I don’t see the same person I loved when I look at you anymore.” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated G. Ship: Feanerd. Genre: angst.

“I don’t see the same person I loved when I look at you anymore”, Nerdanel says.

Fëanor does not register the words immediately. He almost seems to pay no attention to them at all. Nerdanel is not surprised - lately Fëanor has seemed to have forgotten that she exists. He cares for nothing more but his work and the Silmarils. Occasionally even more than for his own children.

“What?” Fëanor eventually asks. He manages to lift his head from his worktable, but he does not face Nerdanel’s eye. “What do you mean?”

Nerdanel draws a deep breath, fills her lungs with courage. With the pent-up rage and sadness and betrayal. “I said I don’t love you anymore, Fëanáro.”

This, Fëanor understands. Nerdanel sees the contractions of his throat as he swallows, the tightening of his jaw. She almost expects him to fight - the way that he fought his own half-brother on the square in Tirion, or the way he has fought her a countless times.

Yet, no. All he does is clear his throat, as if the words choke him.

“I see.”

_“I see?”_ Nerdanel repeats, not fully believing her ears. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you expect for me to say, then?”

“Anything.” Nerdanel clenches her hands into fists, then releases them, clenches and releases. The movement anchors her onto the ground, reminds her of where she stands. “Anything that would remind me that you still care.”

Then, she laughs. Harshly, even. “But what did I expect of you? You do not care for me anymore. You have stopped caring a long time ago. You did that the moment you crafted those gems.”

Fëanor’s eyes narrow. A spark flares there, but it is not enough. It is but a burnt cinder compared to the wildfires that she once ignited within him. 

“The Silmarils are everything to me”, he says, “but so is this family. You cannot ask me to choose between one or the other.”

Nerdanel sighs. Fëanor twists her words, he always does, yet he is still too blind to _see._

“I am not asking you to make that choice”, she says. “For you have already made it.”

_And he has not chosen her._


	21. (E) Angbang: "On your knees."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentences: “On your knees,” and “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”. The prompts were taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated E. Ship: Angbang. Genre: smut.

“On your knees”, Melkor commands, and Mairon crumbles at his call.

He has always been easy, this one. Even back in Almaren, all it took to seduce him were a few well-chosen words and a brush at his hand in the dark. Ever since Mairon has been like clay in his hands, his to build and to mold. Melkor has shaped Mairon in his own image, and that sight is beautiful to behold.

Long, red hair, floating and flickering around his face like a living flame. Glowing, white skin, untainted save the marks he bore for his few transgressions. A form that was both chiseled yet lithe, a statue of perfection laid at his feet.

“How do you want me, my lord?” Mairon asks, the musical notes of his voice so beautifully corrupted by desire. “Do you crave my mouth or my cock? Or perhaps you would like both at the same time?”

Mairon flicks his fingers, his illusions painting an arousing picture of the things he could conjure with his magic. Yet today Melkor has a far more base desire, and that is to have Mairon impaled on his cock.

“I would have you”, Melkor orders. “Turn around. Lift your hips.”

Mairon goes through the motions like clockwork, swirling around gracefully, presenting his ass for Melkor to observe. To Melkor’s delight, Mairon has already prepared himself for him, his hole wet and gaping as if he had been riding a dick all morning.

“My, my”, Melkor hums, running his fingers along the curve of Mairon’s ass. He then gives the cheek a light spank, drawing a sharp moan from his lieutenant’s throat. The sound goes straight to Melkor’s cock. “What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”

“They would call me filthy”, Mairon moans as Melkor dips his fingers into the hot-wet-tightness of his hole. “Utterly depraved.”

“Yes”, Melkor exhales, flowers of frost blooming under his breath. “Wanton whore.”

He pushes his cock inside his lieutenant in one, fluid thrust, and for a sinful piece of eternity, Mairon is nothing but a thing for him to use.


	22. (M) Silvergifting: "How funny do you think teasing is now?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This work was requested by Anon with the following prompt sentence: “How funny do you think teasing is now?” The prompt was taken from a list by @slytherinsqueen.
> 
> Rated M. Ship: Silvergifting. Genre: smut.

“How funny do you think teasing is now?” Tyelpe whispered in Annatar’s ear as he pushed him closer against a pillar on the side of the main hall of Eregion, where the festivities were still ongoing. Although they were at the risk of getting caught, Tyelpe did not care - he simply continued palming at Annatar’s groin through his robes, feeling it harden beneath his hands.

“No”, Annatar gasped, clearly suppressing a louder moan. “Not here…”

Tyelpe raised a brow. Annatar sure had the gall. “Not here? You have been tormenting me at the forge _all day–”_ Tyelpe’s other hand found its way beneath Annatar’s clothes, discovering a nipple and twisting it “–and now you are expecting me to restrain myself?”

Annatar’s breaths became shaky, his back arching into Tyelpe’s hands. “Ah- ah-”

“You claim to be so composed”, Tyelpe continued, adding pressure into his twists, “yet here you are, practically melting into my hand. Would it not be fair for all of our associates to see you for what you really are? A wanton whore.”

Annatar shook his head, but the language of his body told the exact opposite. This - the manhandling, the dirty talk, the possibility of being caught - it _excited_ him. Annatar was coming undone, and Tyelpe had barely touched him yet. He could not wait to get his hands on him fully.

“Should I have you right here and there”, Tyelpe pondered, planting a row on kisses on Annatar’s craned neck. “While the whole hall is watching. Would you like that, slut?”

Annatar’s jaw tightened as he drew hissing breaths through his teeth. He clearly tried to say something, but he was far past coherent speech.

“What was that?” Tyelpe asked.

“Yes”, Annatar gasped. “Take me.”

Tyelpe grinned. But although the thought of ravaging Annatar in plain sight excited him, they still had appearances to keep up. So he pulled him further into the dark, onto a small nook in a deserted hallway.

“You are mine now”, Tyelpe said as right hand joined the left beneath Annatar’s robes, and his lover came apart in his deft fingers.


End file.
